House Infernal by Edward Lee

by Edward Lee

  Venetia chuckled. "Now I get it. And besides, anything we eat is a gift from God. Even TV dinners."

  "A true Christian attitude if I've ever heard one," " Driscoll said. "So let's dig in."

  Mrs. Newlwyn and her daughter took their seats at the table. Venetia noticed six places set. "Isn't Dan joining us for dinner?"

  "Who knows?" Driscoll said. "He's probably out hunting more gossip to poison your mind with."

  Venetia smirked. "And who's the sixth place set for?"

  "John Dyall," the priest said. "Right out there." He pointed out the window.

  Venetia squinted to see a thin, dark-haired teenager standing on a ladder pruning some trees.

  "Another helper?"

  "John's an orphan," Mrs. Newlwyn said. "A church family took him in, and since he has such a green thumb he asked to help out with the gardening and such."

  "Should I call him in?" Venetia asked- Now she saw the boy climb down and move the ladder. He appeared meek, withdrawn, about eighteen, she guessed.

  Driscoll answered, "We won't see much of John. He's not really a people person."

  "He has an anxiety disorder," Mrs. Newlwyn added. "He's nervous around others. But he's a fine churchgoing young man. Most nights he takes his meals alone."

  "Oh." Venetia continued to squinted as the boy climbed up the other side of the tree with his pruners. She also noticed Betta looking raptly out the window.

  "I'll leave their dinners in the oven on warm. Even if they dry out they won't be much less edible than they already are." Mrs. Newlwyn offered Driscoll another scowl.

  The priest smiled. "You're a real knee-slapper, Mrs. Newlwyn. Now, who wants to say grace?"

  Venetia elected to, reciting the dinner prayer she chose most at the university. Her TV dinner of starchy fried chicken and mashed potatoes was fine with her.

  Mrs. Newlwyn eyed Venetia. "I'm curious about the father's remark regarding gossip, Venetia."

  Venetia stalled with the pepper shaker. "It's not the best topic for dinner conversation."

  "This miserly gruel can hardly be called dinner, my dear. And I suppose you must mean the murders that occurred here last spring."

  "Yes, ma'am. It was something that Father Driscoll ... didn't feel pertinent enough to tell me in advance. But since I'm so young and inexperienced in the real world, I guess I overreacted a little."

  The tall woman nodded sternly, inspecting her food with a wince. "Get used to it. The good father has a knack for details left unsaid."

  "I guess it's Gang Up On Father Driscoll Day," the priest said, and sloppily devoured half a drumstick.

  "But you did say that only half of the house staff was murdered," Venetia said. "The other half ... left?"

  "They fled, my dear," said Mrs. Newlwyn, "for their lives. But we can hardly blame them. Two more fine nuns-Sister Ann McGowen and Sister Diane Elsbeth."

  "They did their part here for a long time," the priest said. It was dear he wanted to change the subject. "Now it's our turn. So forget about them."

  Venetia tried to read his face more deeply. "You're not saying they quit the sisterhood?"

  "I'm afraid they did," Mrs. Newlwyn verified. "The incident shook their faith to its roots."

  "That's a bit melodramatic," Driscoll insisted.

  His favorite word, Venetia thought. "What a shame ..

  "They're just taking a break." The priest seemed frustrated now. "'They're doing volunteer work just like they always have. Neither of them lost faith."

  Betta looked at her mother, then dragged her glance back to her food.

  Betta obviously doesn't agree, Venetia thought. What is with Driscoll anyway?

  Mrs. Newlwyn pushed her half-eaten dinner away. "But it wasn't just the murders that urged them to leave, my dear."

  "What else?"

  Driscoll rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, Mrs. Newlwyn. Give me a break."

  The tall woman's lips formed the most fragile grin. "Sisters Ann and Diane were absolutely convinced that the prior house is haunted."

  Driscoll threw his hands up. "When it rains, it pours. On me."

  Mrs. Newlwyn lowered her voice. "They both swore that they saw the ghost a number of times, walking the stair-hall and the atrium, and prowling the grounds at night."

  "Prowling," the priest mocked. "You sure it wasn't the meter man, Mrs. Newlwyn? By the way, what happened to those bottles of wine that used to be in the cupboard?"

  Mrs. Newlwyn's grin widened, showing teeth. "The good father is always quick to jest. But he's only been here a few weeks. Diane and Ann worked at the prior house for years."

  Venetia had to ask. "You said the ghost, not a ghost. Who's the ghost supposed to be?"

  The tall woman's eyes slowly scanned the table. "No one knows."

  Venetia actually let herself entertain the notion. Armano Tessorio, the defrocked Vatican architect? Didn't Father Driscoll say he died of syphilis? But she knew it was all just a fanciful story. It's starting to sound like Mrs. Newlwyn is the one given to tall tales. "That's interesting, Mrs. Newlwyn, but tell me-have you ever seen this ghost?"

  The woman's face hardened. "Finish your miserly dinner, dear. Before it gets cold."

  "That's right, Mom," she said into her cell phone. "Two murders. Last spring."

  "Good Heaven's, you're not serious."

  "'Fraid so."

  "Oh, honey, I don't know what to say!" Maxine Barlow exclaimed. "Let me go tell your father, then we'll drive down there and pick you up."

  Venetia laughed. She's overreacting more than me.... "Mom, really, it's okay. It happened months ago. It was just a random crime-it could happen anywhere. I'm going to stay up here all summer, do my job, and get my extra credits. The whole business was just kind of a shock at first. I was really mad at Father Driscoll for not telling me."

  "And he should've told us, too," came her mother's stem reply. "I really wish you'd come back home."

  "I'm fine, Mom."

  "So they caught the murderer?"

  Venetia paused. "Come to think of it, I don't know. I didn't ask."

  "For goodness sake."

  "But everything's fine, really. It's a big job, but the place is kind of interesting. The prior house is loaded with thousands of old books and a bunch of neat statues."

  "How many other students are helping out?"

  "Students? Just me."

  "You're kidding! Does Father Driscoll want to work you to death? That place is huge!"

  "But there are some other people here, a seminarian, a groundskeeper, and this woman named Mrs. Newlwyn and her daughter. Mom, this lady is old school New England. At the dinner table she was implying that the prior house is haunted."

  "Oh, for goodness' sake!"

  "It was really funny."

  "Well, at least I hope they're feeding you well down there. What did you have for dinner, honey?"

  '"I'V dinners."

  "Oh, for goodness' sake!" her mother exclaimed again.

  "And there's no air-conditioning and no fans-"

  "Venetia! You can't spend the entire summer baking in that stuffy old place!"

  "It'll be fun, Mom. Don't worry."

  "Did they give you your own bathroom?"

  Another pause. "Well ..

  "That's deplorable! You mean you have to share?"

  "Mom, relax. No one ever said this place was a palace."

  "Father Driscoll should have told us-"

  "But it is God's work." Venetia tried to stem further objections. "I know that for all intents I'm a spoiled little rich girl, what with Dad's money and all. But I'm perfectly happy roughing it."

  "Roughing it, indeed. I hope those other people with you are clean."

  Venetia shook her head and laughed.

  "And what about your spell yesterday?" her norther rushed on. "Are you feeling better now? Because if you aren't, we're driving down there right now."

  My spell. She'd actually forgotten about it. "That's all passed, and I feel great now, Mo
m. I'm actually kind of excited to be here. It's a good break from the classroom."

  "Well ... you call me every night just the same."

  "Mom, come on. I'm not a little kid."

  "Well then every other night. But you call. Promise me."

  "I promise," Venetia droned.

  "I don't like this murder business and TV dinners-"

  "Love you, Mom. Good night."

  "Don't forget to call-"

  "Tell Dad I said hi." Then she finally hung up. Probably shouldn't have mentioned any of it, she thought.

  A meager breeze gusted in through Venetia's window; the smidgen of relief reminded her how hot it was inside the prior house. I'll have to get into town to pick up a fan. Along with the heat, she also felt exhausted, but in a gratifying way. It's been a long day and I got a lot of work done.... And after sleeping so poorly last night, her fatigue ensured a good night's sleep.

  She'd stripped down to her bra and panties before she realized how bright the bedroom lights were. Close the drapes, you numskull! When she did so she peeked out her window at the vast property behind the building and noticed how much bigger it looked now that nighttime had arrived. The sound of crickets outside seemed as steady as electronic music. For a moment she thought she saw someone at the forest's fringe but noticed after another few seconds that it was just a pine tree branch bowing in another gust of breeze.

  Or at least she thought so.

  Am I paranoid?

  She knew she wasn't. How could anyone be outside at this hour to peep up into her window?

  When she was naked she caught her own eyes appraising her body in the mirror. I guess I'm not bad looking, she complimented herself. Humidity and sweat from working earlier made her belly and high bosom seemed dusted with a faint glitter.

  But an unease began to itch at her right off. When part of her mind began to contemplate the grim fact that a nun had been murdered in this same room, she pulled on a white terry robe and hurried out.

  The second-story stair-hall, which circumscribed the entire atrium below, was dimly lit now. Tulip-shaped lamps were mounted next to every door but less than half were actually lit. Bad bulbs or Father Driscoll's trying to skimp on the power bill. What amused Venetia more than Mrs. Newlwyn's ghostly implications were her more di rect implications that Father Driscoll was a cheapskate. I think maybe tomorrow night we'll skip the budget-brand TV dinners and I'll treat everyone to pizza, she thought.

  In the dark hall the oil painting of Prior Whitewood seemed to grimace at her. He didn't retire, she reflect. He had a nervous breakdoum and abandoned his own priory after the murders.

  Venetia wondered where the elderly man was now.

  Should've known, she thought when she padded into the communal shower area. When she flicked on the overheads, only half of them came on. It left the long, tilewalled space diced by wedges of darkness.

  Four showerheads branched out from the walls, like in a school gym. There were even lockers. Everything shined. Looks like Mrs. Newlwyn and Betta have already taken care of the place. The tile floor was warm beneath her bare feet when she entered. She arranged her soap and shampoo, then heard a muffled hiss. Someone's taking a shower on the other side of this wall, she deduced. Must be the men's side. Dan or Father Driscoll, or-

  What's the young guy's name? John, she remembered, the orphan. Not a people-person. Nervous around others. Did they also mention an anxiety disorder? 1 doubt that he'll be anxious around me.

  She cranked on the cold faucet and frowned. The water felt as warm as the floor; a cooler shower would have been much better. Everything's so hot! The water did cool a little after the pipes cleared. She sighed and let the water spray her breasts, between which her house key glittered. Then she began to soap herself up.

  Much better .. .-

  She gasped softly as the cool water cascaded over her body, giving her immediate relief from the heat. She stood motionless, eyes closed, hanging her head in the jet. She let the water consume her as she concentrated on relaxing.

  For some reason, she thought, Dan.

  Then a noise alarmed her. She turned, her eyes shooting open and her hands flying to cover to her breasts.

  A figure stood in the locker area in front of the showers.

  "Oh, Betta. You scared me for a sec."

  The short but shapely girl-woman, really-seemed partially startled herself. Instead of a robe, she wore an oversized white blouse as big as a man's shirt, which hung down to midthigh. Sorry, she mouthed in silence. Then Venetia lip-read something like, I'll come back.

  "You don't have to wait," Venetia told her. "I'm not bashful if you're not."

  Okay.... Betta had on a shower cap covered with ladybugs, like something a child would wear. In the open blouse, her own key glimmered in her cleavage.

  "The water's not that cool, though, but I guess you already know that."

  Betta smiled meekly, nodding. Not enough lights on either, she seemed to mouth. She didn't seem at all discomfited when she hung up the blouse and turned naked into the long stall.

  Venetia subconsciously fingered her own key. "That was funny how your mother poked fun at Father Driscoll for being cheap."

  Betta nodded again and cranked on the shower.

  Can't make much small talk with a girl who doesn't talk, Venetia realized. When she rinsed the shampoo from her hair, she stole a few glimpses at Betta and found herself mildly jealous. She guessed Betta to be about thirty but her slim, curvy body seemed toned and much more youthful. Suds sluiced off her chest to reveal smallish peach-sized breasts. Her nipples poked out like tender pink cones while Venetia's were large and flat save for their papillas.

  Why am I comparing my body to hers? Venetia asked herself. If she catches me looking at her, she'll think I'm a lesbo.... The notion amused her. But she supposed it was instinctive for women in such situations to compare bodies.

  Venetia rinsed off, then slipped out to dry herself. She put on her robe and combed out her blond hair before one of the mirrors. She turned her head away from the shower, then noticed she could see Betta's reflection off another mirror on a perpendicular wall.

  perhaps she was mistaken in the brief glimpse but Betta seemed to be caressing more than washing her small, tight breasts, and when her fingertips tweaked the nipples, her stomach sucked in as if in a gust of pleasure.

  Something's on her mind, Venetia thought. Hope it's not me!

  She felt guilty seeing it, as though she'd looked on purpose. But Betta couldn't possibly have known about the betraying mirror.

  Could she?

  This is too weird. I need to get out of here.

  "See you tomorrow, Betta," she said quickly.

  Bye, mouthed the girl, partially obscured by the shower stream. She waved and pulled her face back into the spray.

  If anything, the slender woman had seemed more distracted than anything else.

  Back on the ill-lit stair-hall, Venetia wondered which rooms the men were staying in. She scanned down each of the building's long walls and noticed a lot of roomsmostly bedrooms, she presumed. There were just as many offices and supply rooms downstairs.

  She passed her own door and padded to the corner. She heard a creak at the other end of the stair-hall, and a white blur caught her eye.

  For a fleeting moment she thought, Don't tell me that's the ghost, but she smiled to herself when she realized who it actually was.

  It was Betta, in her large blouse, going down the stairs.

  I wonder why she's in such a hurry.... And where's she going?

  Venetia peered over the rail just in time to glimpse the tail of Betta's blouse sweep into the kitchen.

  "Is it the ghost?"

  Venetia twirled, almost shrieking.

  Dan chuckled, looking over the rail. His dark hair glistened from his recent shower. His own robe had a Boston Red Sox emblem on it. "I saw it too, a figure floating down the stairs."

  "You scared the ... whatever out of me, Dan," Venetia snapped.


  "My apologies."

  "And it wasn't a figure floating down the stairs. It was Betta."

  "Where's she going at this hour?"

  "The kitchen, it looked like, probably to get something to drink before bed."

  "Ah." He grinned at her. "Damn. I was hoping it was the ghost."

  "I don't know who's worse, you or Mrs. Newlwyn."

  "Don't laugh. Mrs. Newlwyn claims to have seen the ghost several times herself."

  Venetia was finally recomposed after the scare. "It's baloney, Dan."

  The seminarist turned and casually leaned against the rail. "Come on, Venetia. You believe in ghosts, don't you? The Holy Bible is chock full of 'em."

  "Yeah, I know, but-"

  "Oh, you're not a literalist, huh? It's these new theology professors who're infesting our colleges. The Bible is all metaphor, right?"

  He was already trying to work her into a debate. I'm too tired. "No, Dan, actually I don't believe that at all."

  "Ah, good. Then you do believe in ghosts."

  "You're impossible," she conceded. "And where were you earlier? You missed dinner."

  Dan laughed. "Yeah, but I'm sure I didn't miss much. What was it tonight? Swanson sliced turkey and gravy or Mrs. Paul's fish sticks?"

  "Fried chicken. It wasn't bad."

  "You're too kind, Venetia." He casually crossed his arms, looking at her. "I think Driscoll buys all that cheap food on purpose, to make us humble."

  "Shame on you, Dan," Venetia only half-joked. "Half the world's malnourished, and twenty-five million starve to death every year. There are people in Africa who'd sell their souls for those TV dinners."

  "I know, but they still taste lousy. So call me a phony, but when you all were eating that I drove into town and grabbed a double quarter-pounder with cheese. It was great." He looked away in what seemed an averting gesture. "And you'd be doing me a big favor by closing the top of your robe some. I've gone all day without a single lustful thought but now..."

  Venetia looked down at herself. Quite a bit of cleavage had been showing-she wasn't used to talking to men while in her robe. The key on her chain felt hot against her flesh. She tightened the robe. At first she felt embarrassed, then mad, but it passed instantly. "I guess that's pretty crass for a seminarist to take note of my bosom but then I'll admit that it was pretty honest to look away and tell me. Most guys wouldn't do that."